Live Long and Prepare
by LeahLeeMills
Summary: The U.S.S Enterprise is under attack and Commander Spock is called down to engineering to help, however his attempt to aid those in the engineering decks is halted when he hears his name being called... (Warning: OC used & concept of mind-melding edited to fit)
1. The Smell of Death

"Spock."

He turned sharply on his heel. Amidst the explosions and pained death-screams, the showers of sparks and the deep rumbles and creakings of the ship, the Vulcan tuned out the unnecessary sounds and listened for the pitiful calling to come once more.

"Spock." The croak came once again. He had distinguished that the sound had come from the corner he was about to round, and upon doing so his brief search came to an abrupt end, as directly in front of him there was the calling casualty.

"Helena," he uttered, suddenly showered with blue sparks as a console nearby exploded without warning, into an array of severed coloured wires and acrid black smoke. Without delay, Spock slipped forth and crouched beside her dying form; with trained hands he began to assess the damage done. However, try as he might to find what was physically wrong with her, he was no Bones. He could not find the wound.

"Internal," Helena spoke through a pained gasp, her head dropping backwards against the in-tact panelling her was body was supported upright by. "I can feel i—"she was cut off by her own breaking body.

Suddenly spasming with a series of thick coughs which produced specks of dark blood from her cracked lips, flecks of her life stained the front of her red U.S.S Enterprise uniform, as well as Spock's own blue regulation clothing.

"I'm bleeding inside," Helena softly announced to the commander. "I can feel it," she groggily repeated, her hazy dull-brown eyes half-shutting by themselves. Weakness surrounded her being; it exhausted her, forcing every once-automatic bodily movement to become manual. She had to remember to breathe, swallow and even to keep her eyes open.

Spock could see this. He stared at the young woman, knowing she was about to die. He had put himself in danger- in a hotbed of flying debris and electricity- to watch the life flow out of her body. Inside, the Vulcan was conflicted; his emotions threatened to break the dam he had worked so hard to maintain- threatened to pour forth tears and whimpers, yet outside his composure remained. He appeared calm, collected, and yet was barely managing to contain the human side of himself within his emotionless Vulcan shell. Spock feared death as much as the next person, and to watch someone before him… someone who had appeared so strong and so immortal, succumb to death was bone-chilling. Every moment he searched for a potential solution that would get her back up on her feet and out of danger, her chances of living dropped by 10% at a time.

She was to die.

Spock surveyed the situation one last time as the woman continued to heave out breaths and groan through her teeth. He could see no positive outcome; the only other alternative to a long drawn-out, painful death being cutting her suffering short by prematurely ending her life- and yet the human emotions he had strived so hard to quash filled him to the brim with an overwhelming sense of inner pain and confliction that he appeared to double over before her, as if about to retch, and knew that he could not bring himself to turn thought into action.

Helena had been watching the conflicted creature through imploring eyes, and had seen the Vulcan fall prey to his human side. She knew him well. Used to tease him in the many corridors throughout the U.S.S Enterprise. it seemed she had taken a leaf out of Captain Kirk's book of insults and would often name him 'pointy-ears', or 'pointy-brows' if she felt particularly daring; never did Spock stir; he would continue walking, immersed in the task he had been given to carry out…. Either that or he chose not to retort. Helena was never sure. Either way, the young woman used to laugh even harder when he continued walking without a backwards glance in her direction.

And yet… she had secretly been harbouring feelings for the commander since joining the ship and falling under the command of Captain J. Tiberius Kirk. There were days, or nights. When Helena often yearned for Spock to wander the narrow corridors of engineering of his own accord, check a pipe, tap in a few commands on a console or two, just so she could eagerly watch him at work with a deep sight stirring in her lungs. Even on her very death-bed, the engineer would not confess to the few times she had purposefully disconnected one black wire or another with the sole intent of gaining his attention- albeit to have him storm down with only the task of supervising the fixing of it on his mind. Though Scotty was usually the one to fix the unexplainable, random malfunctions, Helena still got a glowing sense of satisfaction in seeing Spock appear down in the decks of engineering on behalf of Captain Kirk.

Space, the final frontier and an incredibly lonely place. Helena knew Spock was spoken for, and yet the black, gaping Vulcan-shaped hole in her heart forced the young woman on. Forced her to keep hoping that, one day, he would come to his senses and reciprocate kindness with kindness. Passion with passion. Love with eternal love. Still, Helena had never expected her death-bed to be covered with rose petals and the heavy scent of lavender candles, instead of lung-burning computer smoke.

"You know I am going to die," Helena whispered hoarsely, and was once again seized with a coughing fit that sprayed blood down the front of her uniform. She trembled, heaving out heavy, hot breaths that rattled her bones. She could feel herself steadily growing colder- as cold as the Vulcan's gaze that bore into the very core of her injured being.

After a second's pause, in which time seemed to slow and screams were silenced, Helena slowly lifted a pale hand, as if it weighed tonnes, and softly uttered, "Hold my hand."

Spock hesitated for a few moments, and was once again hit by a sudden torrent of painful emotions that caused him to gasp, and for his youthful, unlined brow to furrow. To hold hands was a wholly human action in itself. To place one's own hand within another's was to physically exhibit that you truly manifested your trust in the other being.

Spock barely knew the young female; only as the human who used to call him names in the corridor and cause malfunctions in engineering for reasons still unknown to him, regardless of the countless times Bones had snarled, "Damnit commander, she's in love with you… God knows why…"

He was unsure as to whether the little he had seen or heard about Helena warranted his physical portrayal of trust… And yet, as the girl lay dying before him, with her own blood pooling and bubbling at the corners of her dry mouth, Spock knew that his half-human side was to take over completely and so, slowly, his own hand passed over the top of hers and, calmly, his fingers separated and formed the V-shape only Vulcans knew the significance of.

Helena watched, and was surprised to see him, from her point of view, refuse to clasp hands. Little did she know, and would never get to know, was that it showed Spock had an ounce of humanity in his Vulcan heart reserved for her and her alone, eternally.

For a few moments longer they crouched (or sat propped up against the melting panelling) in absolute silence (save the now-faint wails of the dying and zaps of uncontrolled electricity) , in their strange pact, until she fell into another spell of coughing that forced her once-slow and steady breaths into an uneven death rattle. Her weakened body jolted and more blood sprayed down herself and onto Spock's pale, unblinking face. It unceremoniously dribbled down her chin, and yet her coughing fit refused to cease. Spock sharply withdrew his hand without meaning to. He swiped it across his face, smearing the blood she had coughed unto him over his smooth features; it was as if he saw death as contagious.

Frowning, he watched her, and knew she was going to die in that moment. Helena wheezed and shook, her eyes watering, yet she carried on living. Three minutes of constant coughing lasted until Spock understood she was desperately clinging on to her ebbing life.

For what?

"Die," Spock ordered in a tone he did not realise sounded cruel and commanding. He wanted her pain and undignified suffering to end, that was all. Why carry on living when she was clearly in agony? The answer to Spock's internal question came soon enough.

"H…old…. M….e…. Sp….ock….." Helena barked between wheezes of air that would not hold in her lungs. Her face was red and puffy with exertion, her hands clawed at the floor sprinkled with drops of her own blood. It was then that the Vulcan knew she longed for something he could never give her. She burned for an intimate gesture that showed he loved her as she loved him. A hug….a…kiss?

This time, the Vulcan instinct and side of him kicked in and he continued to simply watch her die for half a minute more, crystal-cold tears beginning to form at the corners of his abyss-like eyes. It was when the first tear fell and carved a trail into his cold cheek, splashing onto the white-tiled floor, that Spock finally comprehended what he had to do.

"Sp…ock…" Helena mumbled once more as the coughing endured. He leant forward, his face clear of any emotion whatsoever (sadness… fear…. Love) that would betray his proceeding action.

"H…old… me," she ordered once more as he gently placed his fingers upon her pulsing temples. He shook his head and sighed deeply through his nose; expelled the unwanted air warmed by his lungs, directly into Helena's face.

"I can't give you the intimacy you desire," Spock coldly stated without flinching. "But I can help you be at peace."

Confused, Helena watched through widened, fearful eyes as the bone-aching death-rattle chokings subsided and Spock closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply once more, his cool fingertips digging into the tender flesh about Helena's temples. Suddenly there was a flash of white light, streaks of blue and black turning her vision into a single, long tunnel of white.

And then complete darkness….


	2. Vulcans Lack Creativity

Spock had never done it before….

He had never fabricated a mind-meld sequence. Very few Vulcans had been known, in their history as a species, to do it. It required creativity, a concept they struggled to grasp… and yet Spock was not thinking of this hindrance as his mind collided with that of the human's. He solely focused on forming a world, lieutenant Uhura's words echoing in his mind as he did so.

'_Women like men in leather.'_


End file.
